


Equilateral

by Everlind



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, Polyamory, Sloppy Makeouts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 19:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2633627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everlind/pseuds/Everlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why would anybody want to fall in love with two people at once? Twice the heartache, twice the confusion. But it happens anyway.</p><p><b>Equilateral:</b><br/><i>adjective</i><br/>1.having all the sides equal:<br/>an equilateral triangle.</p><p><i>noun</i><br/>2. a figure having all its sides equal.<br/>3. a side equivalent, or equal, to others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“So are we just going to pretend nothing happened?”

John’s staring at you, jaw set, brows pinched. You look down, shoulders hunching, then sideways towards Dave. Who’s not looking anywhere.

Fuck. You really so very much didn’t want to go there ever. Trust John to not only fucking go there, but also drop a bomb on the issue and caper about in the resulting mayhem. Trust John to take a huge festering dump on everything you’ve been confused about since… pretty much since that very first night. Falling asleep with a dark head on one shoulder and a light head on the other, all shivery-strange and warm. Next day you pretty much flipped your old life a massive middle finger and all but ran straight after them.

Hah. 

No, actually, that was  _exactly_  what you did. Run after them. Haven been running ever since, haven’t you?

( _away_  from them past… fuck, six days)

“Well?!” John demands. He’s standing before you both, body drawn taut like a live wire. All bravado, that guy, but you can see how his mouth trembles.

Dave clears his throat, shifts -further away from you- and doesn’t say anything. You feel small like this, sitting next to Dave on an old log while John towers over you both, demanding answers. There’s a hole in jeans, over the right knee. Dark scuffed skin peeks through.

Have to wonder why now, really. Has he tried to bite it back ever since that night and now suddenly it all leaps free? Because seriously, out of you three he was the motherfucking prima donna at acting like nothing happened. Now this. And you don’t even have the fucking answers he wants. You did something really fucking dumb, something you promised yourself you wouldn’t —wouldn’t, fuck,  _shouldn’t_  have ever when you feel like…  _this_  for both of them. Worse now, even. (Dave panting against the edge of your jaw and John like living heat against you back, close and strange and scaring you with how much you wanted it)

Just. It was just bros giving each other a hand. Haha, hilarious, no? Fuck. You might be fucked up, but that is  _your_  problem, not theirs. They’re your friends and John looks so upset, like he expects you tell him what happens now. He’s scared, you realize. Scared and angry and confused.

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” you assure him. The words come out thick and clogged.

Somehow, that is the wrong thing to say completely. John’s chin jerks up and his nostrils flare. Next to you Dave has gone very still. The dangerous kind of still he goes right before he’s about to do something wild and impossible. You fucked up. Oh, wow, check this out -you just made it even worse than it already was. You can’t fucking believe it.

“Liar,” Dave breathes out. From your position beside him you can see his profile. His skin looks pallid, tired. Dark bruises under his eyes. Your fault.

It’s better if you just shut the fuck up. You stare at your hands, stomach heavy. Seriously, fuck past you in all available orifices with a weed hacker. Past you just had to go and touch the D, didn’t he? Past you is pure fucking garbage. Fuck. FUCK! You wish you weren’t past you. Past you is disgusting. You hate past you and you hate current you and you hate that you ruined the only thing  _right_  in your life. You’re angry and deeply ashamed; not to mention scared you just lost everything.

“Hey,” John says, suddenly crouching before you. Your body jerks in surprise and you blink at him in rapid confusion as your head comes up. John swallows, throat clicking, blue eyes on yours. “What if I want it to be?” he asks, voice hushed.

The question is like a thunderclap on a sunny day, leaving the inside of your skin crawling and electrified with the implications.

“What?” you ask him. For some reason you’re whispering.

John’s mouth works angrily. “What if I want it to be, asshole?” he repeats, tone defensive. “A big deal.” His voice cracks on the last word.

You gape at him. 

John exhales, shoulders drooping. “You’re so dumb,” he tells you, gripping both your shoulders and pulling you close so he can punch your face with his.

There’s a painful smack of your lower faces connecting, of someone hissing. You think he might be trying to kiss you. Holy shit. He is, he actually really is. He’s bad at it. Really bad, like he only knows what it looks like and has no fucking clue how it works.

It’s his first kiss.

Your face goes hot and your chest draws tight and  _John’s kissing you_. Well, okay, he’s basically mashing his mouth against yours and holding his breath, hands clenching down so hard on your shoulders the muscles in your neck twinge with it. John pulls back, throat bobbing and face twisted into disappointment; you didn’t think to kiss him back, you’d been so surprised.

You want so badly to look at Dave, but this is important, this is so fucking important right know, John on his haunches before you with his hands releasing your shoulders, falling slack and away —that’s important, something you can’t fucking allow to happen. So you catch one hand with yours, curling around those long clever fingers of his and reach with the other for his face.

“That was fucking terrible,” you tell him and even with how close both of you are you can his expression see slant into sudden indignation. You don’t smile, but for a moment you want to. Fuck, the curve of his jaw fits perfectly against your palm and the pad of your thumb aligns ever so nicely with the dip under his lower lip. It’s so easy to bring his face closer, to bring it to your lips, to brush them together, testing, careful, these whisper-soft increments of movement to appreciate his soft, pliant lips, despite how wind-chapped they are.

He tastes like dust and sky.

John lets you. For the duration of ten, maybe fifteen perfect heartbeats he sits nice and still with his head tipped up for you, receptive of what you have to offer. The moment you draw your lips along his to press and pluck for a burst of bright sizzling sensation he all but surges forward, throwing both arms around you. Nearly sends you both careening backwards and straight off the goddamn log.

You manage to steady him, spread your thighs around his waist so he can get closer and tilt your head left as his goes right, meeting in the middle.

Fast learner.

John licks across your lips. They part with a noise of surprise and his tongue sweeps between them, sliding thick against yours. You arch towards him in response. You’re shaking, you can feel it, can also feel his hands stroke down your back like living fire, can feel him gather you close and greedy as he works hungrily at your mouth. Just licks, is what he he does, darting strokes of his tongue into the seam of your mouth good and slick and hot until you’re making stupid small noises for him.

The kiss breaks with John sucking on your lower lip before finally letting it pop free. “Better?” he asks breathlessly, arching a brow.

You just. Okay, you just sit there and stare at him. Out of your periphery vision you can see Dave do the same: pure slack-jawed shock.

John lets out a nervous chuckle, all bluster whisked away. Bumps his nose against yours in an uncoordinated nuzzle. “Your face,” he says, rather shyly.

“Fuck you,” you growl and for the first time ever John’s cheeks darken at that. You didn’t even mean it that way. One of your palms is against the side of his throat, you can feel his pulse strain against it. You thumb wonderingly at it.

John rocks back, pulling away completely. You’re left grasping at empty air, adrift. Scoots-hops like a brain addled monkey closer to Dave. Dave who is blushing so hard it’s a small miracle his head hasn’t popped off yet. Dave who looks terrified. Dave who glances towards you as John puts one hand on his knee, uses the other to steal his shades. 

Right away you can tell it’s different. Dave’s barely moving and John’s just sitting in front of him, both hands resting lightly on his knees. Raises himself, leaning in… draws back, blinking. Laughs a little and avoids Dave’s eyes. Tries again, head tipping sideways, only to stop again. Every single time Dave’s breath seems to go backwards.

You want to scream at them to _just fucking kiss already_  -you don’t, this is between them.

John swallows, exhales shakily though his nose as he kneads Dave’s knees lightly. Dave’s staring at the top of John’s head like he’s never seen him before. You can hardly stand the naked longing in his bruised red eyes.

You wonder how much pent up and unresolved romantic feelings lie there. They were kids together.

John surprises you. At long last he finally looks up, meeting Dave’s gaze and quirks this tender, crooked smile at him. It’s a little sheepish. Dave’s lips twitch back. In the end all John does is graze his mouth across Dave’s, just that. It leaves Dave looking destroyed regardless. John hums, bumping their foreheads together playfully. You don’t miss how he can’t contain a bright brilliant grin, or how Dave folds his lower lip under his teeth and just… rests against John.

Again, John pulls away. Actually backs up in a crabwalk before tucking his legs under himself and parking his ass on them. Looks at you both expectantly. You and Dave stare back. John’s lips are kiss swollen. Your own flush with sensitivity at the memory of them on yours, doing just that. Kissing. Dave has the back of his knuckles wedged against his mouth.

John clears his throat. Flaps a hand between you both.  “Aren’t you two going to…” he mumbles, voice husky and strangling around embarrassment. 

Fuck. Oh, fuck yes please. When your eyes meet Dave blinks, slowly, like he’s coming from far away. Six months of flirting. Six damn months you finally understand weren’t ironic at all and now that idiot is sitting there like a innocent schoolboy blushing hard enough the tips of his ears are pink.

“C’mere,” you tell him, swinging a leg sideways so you’re straddling the log. Gesturing him closer.

You don’t expect the both of you to line up and match just right. Don’t expect him to kiss you back. Don’t expect the tips of his fingers tickling at the nape of your neck, nor the way the others are wound into the collar of your shirt like he needs something to hang on to.

He’s a little sloppy, still lightheaded and woozy from kissing John, drunk from him. Their kiss was too light, too soft, but you suddenly wish you could go for a taste within the heat of his mouth and still find traces of John. Just Dave now, Dave reeling you closer and holding on desperately. Your heart hurts with how hard it is pumping in your chest. Fuck, you pull back, hiss. Dave follows you blindly, mouth wet and it’s so fucking easy to go back for more and curl your tongue against his. Tastes sweet. You scrape your teeth lightly along the inside of his lower lip and your hands at his ribs convulse as he makes this thready, throaty noise that makes you dick ache. 

It’s ridiculous how stupidly soft his hair is, how it even can be when all you do is splash around in rivers and scrub down with all purpose soap. But it is gorgeous between your hands, like something fine and expensive, and Dave’s warm against your front, a hot hand cupping your jaw with awkward tenderness.

When you rock back Dave’s gasping in these shaking exhales against your lips, sending washes of shivery contact along them. You lick them instinctively, tip of your tongue glancing against the corner of his mouth. It gets a soft groan and then he’s collapsing forward to hide his face into the hollow of your neck.

Okay, fuck you sideways and upside down, but he’s pretty when he blushes. Putting your arms around him, you cuddle him against your chest. Look for John.

Who’s sitting flat on his ass like the sight of you and Dave kissing knocked him over. Looks starstruck he does, and you know that look; it’s when he’s seen something he really really  _really_  fucking wants and no amount of perfectly sane logic can change his mulish idiot mind.

Fuck logic anyway.

One of you hands finds Dave’s, twining both your fingers together -you hold the other out to John.

Who smiles, and takes it.


	2. Chapter 2

Problem.

You can’t kiss two people at once.

Alright, you suppose could simply mash your faces together and mature into a triumvirate of aimless slobbering. A far better idea is to take turns -proof that John occasionally succeeds in rubbing two braincells together and creating a spark. 

Still doesn’t quite solve it.

You look at Dave, who looks at John, who looks at you. The only sound is the buzz of insects, the hum of the night sky and the heavy beating of your heart.

“So,” Dave speaks up, and his voice strangles itself until he has to cough before he can go on. “Who first?”

John grins a little. “Eeny meeny miny moe?” he suggests, and you have to marvel again at how  _sure_  he seems about this. Just sits there, kneeling, looking at you both with bright eyes and no reserve. Looks from you to Dave, and back again, lips pantomiming _eeny meeny_ …

You’re nervous as hell, and more than a little terrified, but you want this  _so badly_. At least you’re pretty sure Dave’s stuck on the same level as you: kinda horny, but mostly scared shitless. Now you got what you want and you don’t know what to do with it.

Dave’s just sitting there, waiting. For John, for you, both of you at once. There’s the strangest little thrill when you realize that you could put your hands anywhere on Dave, and he’d probably let you. Maybe get him flat on his back underneath you and peel off his shirt.

Stupid, how all you want to do is undress him yourself, after having to fucking sit on your ass and pretend you didn’t want to do it  _for_  him for months. 

It’s getting awfully tight in your jeans. That’s just bloody fantastic, nobody has even so much as fucking sneezed in your direction and you’re dangerously turned on.

Instead of mentally beating yourself to a pulp deciding who to kiss first and whether or not you might just cream yourself if you do, you take the easy way out.

Flap a hand between them both. “You two go first, I’ll just-“

“-watch?” John offers, raising a brow.

“ _Whatno_. I mean, it’s not. Just” -if John grins any wider the top of his head will tumble off- “oh shut up. I just wanted to-“

“Stare. Observe. Ogle. Gawk,” John interjects. “Like a creep.”

You kick out at him, face on fire, because he’s right, the utter shit, you  _do_  want to watch. You want to see John kiss Dave the way he kissed you earlier: hot and close and wanting. John catches you by the calf and topples you onto your back, and by the time you’ve gotten an elbow under yourself John’s scooted onto Dave’s sleeping bag with a rustle of nylon.

And shit. Oh fuck it, fucking shit, he’s more than right, it might just be a  _thing_  and if it is he’ll never let you live it down. You can’t afford it to be a thing, the teasing would never end.

Like earlier today, John steals Dave’s shades and fumbles them off to the side, out of harm’s way. Stare-off. You resist the urge to knock their heads together out of sheer spite. John’s smiling, sideways sly, and Dave’s failing not to blush and you fucking swear if he makes the both of you wait any longer you’ll set the tent on fire with him in it. 

Dave swallows; you can hear his throat click and work around it —and then John’s hands come up to cup his face. Presses their mouths together. Warmth sweeps through your chest as though it’s you -being kissed, doing the kissing, you’re not sure. One thing you’re sure of however:

it totally is a thing. Dammit.

The small wet sounds between them, John’s dark hands curled against Dave’s cheeks and the little glimpse of John sweeping his tongue against Dave’s -fuck. Oh, wow.

You expected jealousy. You expected to feel excluded. You didn’t expect pressure against the inside of your ribs and your breath going backwards.

“Dave, you can touch me back,” John grumbles between kisses. 

Dave is rapidly approaching tomato on the blush-o-meter. “I am touching you back!” he protests, muffled. His hands refuse to settle properly, skating along John’s sides.

“No, you lazy bum, you’re sort of… of poking me—see you’re doing it now!” 

Valiant, you resist the urge the facepalm. You should have known. You should have made rules about sloppy make outs and idiot repartee, and the incorrigible combination of both when Dave is doing this unfairly graceful full-body roll from hips to shoulders and John’s peering at Dave from under his lashes looking hungry.

“I’m not poking you!” Dave says.

“Yeah, you totally are. Touch me properly,” and John grabs Dave’s wrists and guides his hands towards his chest, lining up his palms against his pectorals.

Dave twitches a brow. “What do you want me to squeeze your manboobs here, is that what you’re saying? Gee, John, why didn’t you just say so— _hm_ …”

Silence again, and this one lasts. Dave’s arms go around John’s neck as they pull close together to push and pull and realign and go back for more. It’s openmouthed and wholly uncoordinated and absolutely gorgeous, almost raw-edged when John pulls back to nuzzle their noses together, rather teasing, but staying there, close against Dave like he needs the contact to steady himself before he can even think about pulling away. Which he does, eventually, sitting back and sucking his bottom lip under.

The kiss has left Dave’s mouth swollen and wet, left him breathing hard. Looks good like that, Dave does.

You’ve been good, you’ve waited. But now it’s your turn.

You pad forward on the heels of your hands. Dave doesn’t seem to register your presence until you nudge his cheek with the ridge of your brow. Blinks his eyes clear and looks at you, pliant and in love. Your heart stutters and turns itself over.

“Hey,” you say.

It gets a little noise, air whistling past Dave’s teeth as he inhales sharply. “Oh, fuck, hang on, I just, I need a moment here, can’t expect me to be up and running after hurricane Egbert… came… and… and—“ his eyes jump down to your mouth and his babbling grinds to a halt.

You hover over his lips, teasing, close enough your exhales bounce back against yours. “And?” you prompt.

The sound Dave makes resembles ‘ _aandrrrgffft_ ’ and you have to fight not to grin. John openly laughs, near enough your skin prickles with his presence, but not touching you. After a moment, the corner of Dave’s mouth twitches, too. You kiss it.

Chaste, just tracking the slight upwards curve. His mouth is damp, and his skin clings to yours, becoming wetter and warmer as you work towards the centre of his mouth. One of your hands lifts, moves behind his head to wind his hair between your fingers. Dave seizes the front of your shirt, nowhere near as docile as he was with John, and hauls you closer until you’re straddling his thighs.

His mouth opens under yours, wide and moist and hot, the taste of him suffusing your mouth as he raises his tongue against yours. It’s sultry and heady, almost rich, and _good_ , just so good, John lingering in the wet mess of Dave’s mouth. You’re lightheaded with how fast your heart is pumping, you can hardly breathe with barely suppressed wanting. 

Hands slide around your waist -John, welding himself against your back warm and affectionate. A line of kisses is strung along the width of your shoulders, bursts of pressure through the worn material of your shirt.

“Don’t mind me,” he murmurs, lips against the vulnerable part of your nape. You shiver, skin waking to him, hyper-aware and calling out. He exhales, hot and close, lilts his head, nosing along the softer hair curling against your skin. And then he fucking bites you. Bites the back of your neck hard enough your dick gives a throb of interest, strange and startling enough you hiss into Dave’s mouth as your body tightens.

You’re left with sweet heaviness low in your gut, something that wants more, something that crumbles your control away and has you clawing at Dave’s shoulders as you arch into him with a groan that burns your throat with how loud and unrestrained it is.

One of them curses, you’re not sure who, but the seam of Dave’s mouth is still slack and receptive and John nips again, huffing breath across your hurting flesh, and you have to do something  _more_  than just the careful back and forth, something deeper and dirtier —all you can think of is licking, a graceless stripe that catches Dave across his open mouth.

Dave’s blinking, fast and startled and you sway after him for more. But it’s John who reaches past you and grabs Dave’s chin, anchoring him so you can slide your tongue along the curve of his lips—

for a moment you dare imagine how it’d be, caught between the rocking of their bodies, the beautiful terror of them taking and having and owning you, the heat of their bodies as they fuck you

—can’t help but whine, stupid and aroused and disoriented, and that’s when John smears his thumb through the wetness of your kiss, dragging along your bottom lips.

Dave— Dave chokes, wounded, and pitches into you to shiver helplessly, making this broken hurting noise.

It leaves your mouth cold, and the rest of you bereft, but you helplessly stroke hands along his back. John settles his chin on your shoulder, faces close together with his cheek against the line of your jaw. His hand lingers around the curve of Dave’s ear.

“I think we broke Dave,” he comments. Casual and composed, but he’s holding on to you  _hard_ , like he’s afraid to fall.

You snort, lean back into him as you try to shake off your daze, the dull pounding in your groin. “I think we made him blow in his jeans,” you correct, trying to match his idle tone but your voice comes out thick and slow. 

Dave responds to this by aiming a drunken punch in your general direction. Hits you off-centre, your ribs, thumps the side of his palm against them three times, then shivers some more. It makes John laugh, soundless, you can feel his chest hitch with it against your back and  _shit_ , that’s nice, you like that.

You’re a ruin of emotions, sore and unsure. So you just relax into John and watch him cradle the back of Dave’s head, work fingers through his fine blonde hair to keep him close against the beat of your heart.

They’re solid, and they’re real, and it happened—is happening still. Nobody’s jumping apart, or freaking out, there’s just this honey slow sense of belonging.

All three of you have been waiting for this, this is another piece of the puzzle suddenly lining up, slotting into place.

Dave exhales, hard, and straightens up with this blissed out expression on his face, fever bright with his afterglow and he’s fucking beautiful. You did that, you and John, and something in your heart splits wide and proud.

Long fingers lip under the edge of your shirt, rekindling your needing with a line of sparks on your flesh -Dave. John opens his mouth against the side of your throat.

“Guess who’s next,” Dave murmurs lowly, teeth at the edge of your jaw; a promise, and you can feel a blush rise to your cheeks.

The soft stroke of John’s tongue against your pulse makes your body jump, jolt, curve in response. “It had better be me,” you grit out.

To your eternal satisfaction, both of them crack up. Your grasping fingers find someone’s hand. You grip it tightly and surrender.


	3. Chapter 3

John likes this.

He likes Karkat supine on his back between them both, chest rising and falling with deep, unsteady breaths. Likes Dave across of him, shirtless and shadeless, every freckle on display for him to look at.

Karkat’s very quiet like this. Dave holds Karkat’s face to kiss him, the way they do in the movies; a knuckle tipping his chin up for better access (it’s corny, Karkat loves it). The sight of Dave’s jaw dropping -his mouth going wider- and the sudden clench of Karkat’s fingers in Dave’s hair makes his chest fluttery with something wild and nervy.

He’s been waiting all day for this, ever since they broke up camp. Karkat came out of the tent grumpy and completely disheveled, dark hair fleeing his head in any which direction. He’d given them one defiant, smoky look, lip curling while flipping them off. Looked good enough to eat, he had. John’d been looking and Dave’d been looking. Then they’d looked at each other, and grinned.

They’d been wound tight during the whole, ridiculously long day. Wound even tighter now.

John looks at the hard ridge of Karkat’s erection in his jeans, thinks about snaking his palm along it, grinding with his heel until Karkat moans his name so damn pretty.

Tempting, tempting. Alas, it’d be much funnier (hotter) if they could make Karkat blow his load in his pants. He hates that. He’ll come at them cheeks flaming and teeth bared, bright eyed and screaming; he’ll fuck like he fights after that.

Plus there’ll be plenty of reasons to keep that foul mouth of his better occupied.

Speaking of occupied… John quite likes looking, but he likes  _doing_  even more so.

With a hand joining Karkat’s in Dave’s hair, he tugs the latter up. Dave groans, fails to close his mouth when he comes away from Karkat. Hangs there suspended and breathing hard, mouth swollen and wet, all shiny the way it’ll look after sucking John’s cock.

“Hey,” he says. “My turn.”

“Not done,” Dave slurs.

John snorts. “Not my problem.” He tugs harder at his handful of blonde hair. Dave licks his lips, eyes hooded.

Both of them look at Karkat. Usually this is where he’ll interject a scathing remark or two. Or twelve. But all he’s doing is lying flat on his back, arms stretched up over his head. Breathing hard. Wrecked. Willing.

Pliant.

John’s not fooled, but he covers Karkat with his body anyway. Fails to swallow back a hiss at the sensation of another body arching under his, legs going up around his waist. There’s a hand kneading at his ass, his hip, Karkat’s hip —Dave enjoying the show.

Karkat’s eyes are almost black, the brown of his irises eaten up by the pupil as he stares at avidly John’s lips.

Very carefully John leans in, takes his mouth with his own.

It’s hot, Karkat’s mouth, quite literally. Overheated and wonderfully receptive. It’s the best like this, when it’s just touching and moving, just looking for what feels good, feels best, similar to the sloppy desperate way it gets when the fucking is almost over. Half breath, half touch. Artless, adoring strokes of lips, allowing the damp skin to catch and pluck into bursts of white hot shivers.

John gets to lick everywhere like this, whether it’s the upper left of Karkat’s lip or into the seam of his mouth or a languid drag of his tongue across the surface of Karkat’s, drawing him lightly into his mouth. Which he does, sucking at the tip of Karkat’s tongue, not hard, just enough so he can enjoy the devastating soft texture as warm huffs of air scatter against his lips.

A pale blur’s hovering, idly stroking his hair; Dave.

When John draws back Karkat makes this low wanting noise that’s not so much a complaint as a general state of being. Dave licks his lips at it, but looks at John all strangely shy.

It’s cute and Dave is such a nerd, really, so John grins and swoops in for the chastest peck of a kiss. Nice and proper like, on Dave’s blushing cheek. MWAH.

“John,” he gasps.

“That’s me,” John answers cheerfully. “Something you wanted?”

“I swear you’re the shittiest of asses, Egbert,” Dave says. “I should order you a truck of Cottonelle for your bday so you can wipe that attitude down the pooper.”

“Oi. I did not authorise words,” Karkat interjects. “Either kiss him or kiss me, but shut the fuck up.”

“Whoa he’s back!” Dave says.

“Hello, honey,” John adds, all d’aaaw, look at you all turned on and pissed off.

Karkat glares at them. The effect is entirely lost between his mussed hair and the hard dick poking John’s belly.

“Just. Kiss,” he repeats, all but knocking their heads together even as his other arm folds open to draw Dave close against his side.

Kissing Dave happens right next to Karkat’s head, close enough John can feel the tip of Karkat’s nose tickle through the soft hair at his ear, hear the way his breathing goes hard and strung when John makes a show of sucking on Dave’s bottom lip.

Dave makes the awesomest tiny, shattered noises when he’s kissed properly. 

He’s doing it now, while John licks his way into Dave’s mouth easy. Just a sweep along the width of his mouth before drawing back to nip at the corner. A little  _ah_ , and then _oh fuck_ and  _John!_ , and John just grins and slides his tongue against Dave’s lips, into his mouth with the same rhythm and heat of sex.

The soft, wet noises draw a growl from Karkat, as well as a scatter of approving kisses along John’s jaw, working towards his chin to skip over the sliver of space towards Dave’s… John again- and back.

Neither of them gets out of their clothes. Karkat’s first, shaking underneath John while his lips are still on Dave. Dave’s right after, when Karkat slides a unsteady hand down his taut pale belly and into his jeans.

That leaves John, about half an hour later, with two thoroughly annoyed boyfriends.

Karkat looks at Dave. “I’ll hold him down.”

John lies on his back, crosses his arms behind his head. Oh yeah.

 

Mission accomplished.


End file.
